Bastard's Toy (Ramsay Bolton)
by Kiara Biersack
Summary: 'Everyone called you a monster. A horrible person. They were right. I'm just a foolish boy.'
1. Prologue

Willas Arryn was a boy of ten when he was sent to Winterfell as a ward to Catelyn Stark.

He was her nephew, the son of her younger sister, Lysa and her husband, Jon Arryn. Willas's brother, Robin, was a boy of five at the time.

Willas had the looks of a Tully. The red hair and blue eyes. The kind face. He was strong at ten, much stronger than his brother, who still drank from his mother's breast. Willas supposed he was lucky that he was not the weak, sickly boy that Robin had become. He supposed he was lucky to be sent to Winterfell, where he could learn and grow among his Stark cousins and his aunt and uncle.

Eddard Stark had two sons.

Jon Snow and Robb Stark were both twelve, two years the senior of Willas, but he stood taller than both of them all the same, much to both of their distaste. It was not that the two hated Willas, but they certainly didn't appreciate his sudden placement in their lives.

Robb got the worst of it, or, at least, he thought he did.

Catelyn doted on Willas, always complimenting him on something or another. When Willas managed to take down the fourteen-year-old Theon Greyjoy while sparring, Catelyn had been there to congratulate him. When Willas fell ill with a minor fever, Catelyn sat by his bedside for three nights until the fever broke.

But Catelyn was only doing what Lysa wanted.

Lysa thought that since Robin was so very sickly, that it would only be a matter of time before Willas succumbed to some horrible disease and found himself too weak to do anything. She thought that his strength should be encouraged while he still had it.

Her husband thought she was foolish for believing that their son's excellence would ever fail.

Willas was a wonderful boy, the Lord that the Eyrie needed for when Jon was dead and gone.

He had never been good with horses, however.

Never quite understood how the animal needed to trust you, or else you'd be thrown.

Jon, Theon, and Robb always made fun of him when he struggled to mount his horse. Always joked that he'd need to ride in wheelhouse if he were to travel.

Catelyn and Eddard tried their best to stop the mocking, but boys would be boys.

Willas hated them for that. He hated the way they laughed at him. He hated the way Theon would accidently slip on his horse and shout out, 'Look, I'm Will, now!'

It was far too often that he and Theon would find themselves brawling in the yard as Robb and Jon shouted at the pair of them, urging them to stop before Eddard and Catelyn came out.

One day in particular, Willas had grown enraged at Theon while sparring.

The slap of the flat of his training sword had left a wide, purple and yellow bruise on Theon's cheek that remained there for nearly a month before it finally faded.

Willas had been punished with no sparring until the bruise was gone, and while he was rather annoyed by it, he found a sick kind of pleasure in himself at the sight of Theon breaking into tears.

Finally, the trio's taunting became too much for Willas.

The three watched Willas as he managed a running start, jumping up and threading the fingers of his right hand through the reins of his horse.

The animal reared up, letting out a wild neighing as Willas found himself tumbling, his fingers twisting painfully in the reins.

His foot caught in the stirrups, and he hung limply for a moment before the horse's weight collapsed on his leg.

Willas Arryn let out a horrible, gut-wrenching scream as his leg was crushed.

He pulled his fingers free, the three in the middle twisted all at odd angles. The horse stumbled to it's feet, pawing at the dirt as it backed away from the form of the young boy.

Willas continued to scream, as Jon, Robb, and Theon stared at him with horror in their eyes. None of them dared to move.

Catelyn was the first to rush into the yard, demanding explanations as Willas screamed and sobbed from the ground.

The morning's ride was canceled, and Willas was taken to Maester Luwin.

His leg was broken, as were the three twisted fingers.

Maester Luwin made him splints for his injuries. The fingers would heal, albeit still remain bent oddly. There was little hope for his leg; if it did heal, then it would leave him with a painful limp. If it grew worse, the limb would have to be amputated.

Willas was confined to his bedchambers for over a month, his meals brought to him by servants and his bedclothes changed daily. He bathed every week, needing the assistance of a servant to do so, even if it embarrassed him to no extent.

Robb and Jon visited him often in his chambers, discussing in great joy the birth of the kennelmaster's newest pups.

Theon visited once, but hardly said anything to Willas. He only stared at the young boy, smiling sadly at each attempt Willas made at joking. He left in silence without a goodbye, though Willas did not mind.

When his leg healed the best it could, Willas was left with an awkward limp. Running hurt, sparring hurt worse, and riding felt like utter torture with the jostling movements.

Catelyn wrote Lysa to explain what had happened, and while his mother begged for him to be sent home, Willas remained in Winterfell. His father thought that the injury gave his son some humility, it would be good for him in the long run. Willas wasn't quite sure he agreed, but his father was a smart man, so it must have been true.

Theon privately dubbed Willas 'cripple', mocking the younger man to servants and stablehands. None of the brothel's whores would even look at Willas now.

He didn't care.

All appetites for riding, fighting, and fucking had been lost to Willas Arryn.

He only wanted to be left alone.

Ser Rodrik Cassel took to giving Willas private sword lessons. It didn't take long for him to relearn the basics of sword fighting, and while he was slower now, he grew stronger.

Willas would not let this injury ruin him.


	2. One

Deserters of the Night's Watch often found themselves on the Starks land. The duty of dealing with these men fell to Eddard Stark.

He gathered his sons and wards to see the deserter beheaded.

Brandon, the second youngest of the Stark sons, was only a boy of ten. That did not seem to matter to Eddard, who decided that Bran would come to see the execution.

The Lord of House Stark found Willas in the library, a book about Aegon the Conqueror in his hands and his leg propped on a cushion. "Willas," Eddard stated. "Your horse is saddled and ready."

"Do I have to go?" Willas asked, barely glancing up from the pages of his book.

 _Aegon Targaryen conquered Westeros with his two sister-wives, Rhaenys and Visenya beside him. The three had dragons, Aegon's being named Balerion._

"Yes, Willas. Come on. The book will be here when we come back."

 _The fire of Balerion the Black Dread forged the Iron Throne._

Eddard let out a low sigh at his nephew. "Willas," he said, his voice firm.

Blue eyes peered up at him from above the pages. "Fine," the fifteen-year-old stated.

He lowered the book to his side, letting out a low hiss of pain as he stretched out his leg. When he stood, Eddard noticed that he winced as his foot touched the ground. "The pain bad today?" he asked.

"Don't worry about me," Willas stated, not answering the question. "It's nothing."

"It's what you get for sitting all day."

When Willas looked at his uncle, his saw the faint smile on the older man's face. He let out a chuckle, shrugging lightly. "Perhaps I enjoy the pain."

Eddard rolled his eyes slightly. "Come on," he said.

Willas leaned backwards, hearing the cracking and popping sounds of his muscles as he stretched them. He licked his lips before he followed Eddard out of the library out into the yard.

The horses were saddled and ready, Bran, Jon, Theon, and Robb already on their mounts. Willas stepped slowly over to his horse, reaching out slowly to let the filly sniff his hand. "Good girl," he murmured.

He started to climb up, adjusting his foot in the stirrup and stroking the filly's mane. "Easy, girl."

The injured leg took a bit of effort, and Willas found himself biting back another hiss as he twisted the leg with his hands, slipping his foot through the stirrup.

"Do you need help, m'lord?" a stablehand asked cautiously.

There was fire in Willas's blue eyes when he turned to look at the young man. "No," he said firmly.

He adjusted his hips awkwardly, then lowered his head. "Ready?" Eddard asked from his other side.

"Ready," Willas agreed.

They rode out, Willas having to stall at random moments to adjust as pain surged through his leg. Each time, Theon broke out into quiet laughter as Willas muttered curses under his breath. Jon was sure to ride along just behind Willas, in case the younger boy fell from his horse.

Willas hated that even Bran on his pony was ahead of him, but it did give him some joy to know that Jon was behind him the whole way.

They reached a clearing, and the deserter was dragged forward.

Eddard was first to climb from his horse, the rest following. Willas accepted Jon's help, leaning heavily against the bastard's side, offering a smile of thanks. Jon and Robb joined Bran.

The deserter was younger. Twenty-five, Willas might have guessed. His blond hair hung limply in front of his face, drenched in sweat. His face was pockmarked and his lips were chapped bloody from the biting cold of the Northern air beyond the Wall. The black leathers he wore hung over his body loosely. His face was gaunt and thin.

The man's blue eyes scanned the people that surrounded. "I saw the White Walkers," he whispered, repeating the words over and over.

Eddard looked him over. "I know I broke my oath," the man said. "And I know I'm a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them, but- - I saw what I saw. I saw the White Walkers. People need to know. If you can get word to my family... Tell them I'm no coward. Tell them I'm sorry."

There was silence for a moment. Eddard nodded stiffly.

Two men pushed the deserter to the ground, pressing his head to the stump that rested there. Willas saw Jon step closer to Bran, taking him by the shoulder and whispering to him.

Willas dug his fingernails into his palms, watching Theon hold out Eddard's sword. The ancestral greatsword of House Stark, Ice. Eddard drew it, letting the blade's tip rest on the ground. "Forgive me, Lord," the man begged quietly.

Eddard began to speak. "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die."

He raised the sword, swinging it down. Willas flinched as the blade passed through the man's neck, sending his head toppling to the dirt.

Blood sprayed out across the scarce piles of snow, staining it a deep pink. Willas glanced at Bran, surprised at how well his young cousin contained himself.

A silence hung over the men as they mounted their horses again, Willas taking extra care to not hurt his leg.

They started riding, stopping only when they came across the corpse of a stag in the path. Willas turned away from the sight, the scent of rot and decay filling his nostrils. "What is it?" Jon asked.

"Mountain lion?" Theon offered.

"There are no mountain lions in these woods," Eddard replied.

Everyone walked around it, mounting their horses and continuing to ride.

They stopped once more when the giant form of a wolf appeared in the path, just a ways ahead of them. The men climbed from their horses, moving to examine the beast. Five pups struggled to nurse from the body of their mother.

A sharp antler was imbedded in it's chest, blood caked on and beginning to dry.

There was silence for a long time. "It's a freak!" Theon declared.

"It's a direwolf," Willas corrected.

"Tough old beast," Eddard murmurred, pulling the antler free.

"There are no direwolves south of the Wall," Robb commented.

"Now there are five," Jon replied.

Jon scooped one of the pups up in his hands. "You want to hold it?" he asked, pushing it into Bran's arms.

Bran held it close, and the pup snuggled it's head into his furs. "Where will they go?" the young boy asked. "Their's mother's dead."

"They don't belong down here," Ser Rodrik stated.

"Better a quick death," Eddard agreed "They won't last without their mother."

"Right, give it here," Theon said, pulling his dagger and reaching for Bran's pup.

"No!" Bran cried, pulling away sharply.

"Put away your blade," Robb snapped at the Greyjoy.

"I take orders from your father, not you," Theon replied.

"Please, Father," Bran begged.

"I'm sorry, Bran," Eddard answered.

Jon spoke up. "Lord Stark? There are five pups. One for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your house. They were meant to have them."

Everyone looked to Eddard for an answer. Finally, the lord spoke. "You will train them yourselves. You will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves."

In a second, Robb was stepping forward, gathering two pups into his arms. Willas did the same, smiling at the way they nuzzled against his chin. "What about you?" Bran asked Jon.

"I'm not a Stark," he replied. "Get on."

They started to make way back to the horses when Jon stopped. "What is it?" Robb asked.

Jon lowered into the brush, lifting an all white pup by the scruff of the neck. While it's siblings had not yet opened their eyes, this pup's eyes shone bright red. "The runt of the litter," Theon noted with a smirk. "That one's yours, Snow."

Willas sighed at Theon, looking down at the two pups in his arms.

Direwolves south of the Wall.

His books had never said anything about this.


	3. Two

"Willas, please look at me."

Catelyn Stark stood in the library, staring at her nephew. His nose was once again buried in a book, and even despite the urgency in her tone, he refused to even spare her a glance. "Willas, this is important," she said.

For a moment, he didn't answer her. "Just tell me, then," he said. "If it's so important it can't wait."

"Willas Arryn, I want you to look at me."

The sternness in her voice surprised him. He glanced up, and the blue Tully eyes locked together. "Right, then," he said. "What is so fucking important that I had to be making eye-contact to learn?"

Her eyebrows raised dangerously. "Willas."

He lowered his eyes, chewing his lip. "Sorry."

"A raven came from King's Landing," his aunt said. "I'm very sorry, Willas, but your father took ill with fever. He's dead."

Willas stiffened. He had not seen his father in nearly five years, yet it felt as if his world were crashing down around him. "Mother and Robin?" he asked. "How are they?"

"They both have their health, Gods be good," Catelyn replied.

"The Gods aren't good. If they were good, my father would be alive."

Catelyn hesitated. "You are Lord of the Eyrie, now, Willas. Or, at least, you will be. Your mother is willing to be acting Lady for now."

He shook his head, unable to process any of what his aunt was saying. He scrambled to stand up, pain surging through his leg, but he did not care. "I have to go to them. I have to go to King's Landing."

"You can't, Willas. The king is coming to Winterfell. I'll expect he'll want to meet you, since you'll become the new Lord of the Eyrie."

"My father has just died, I need to see my family. I need to go home," he whispered, words frantic.

But he hadn't been home in five years. He couldn't even remember the roads coming from King's Landing to Winterfell. If he tried to go back, he'd be lost.

He started to pace back and forth, footsteps heavy and sending pain through his leg. Catelyn stared at him for a moment before she stepped forward, taking him by the shoulders. "Willas," she said. "Willas, calm down."

He tore free of her grip as tears began to fall from his face. "My father is dead," he sobbed. "I want to see my mother. Please, take me to my mother."

"Enough," Catelyn stated. "This is not how the Lord of the Eyrie should act. Lords do not cry for their mothers."

Willas stopped walking, letting Catelyn wrap her arms around him in a tight embrace. "Shh, shh, sweet boy," she murmured. "No more tears. You're all right."

She held her nephew tightly for a moment as his tears fell and soaked her dress. "I don't want to be Lord of Eyrie," he whimpered out.

"It's all right. Your mother will rule for now, she does not mind. It's all right."

Catelyn had never seen Willas like this. So overcome by sadness that he could hardly say a word. She had seen him cry. When he'd injured his leg five years before. When he'd come down with a fever and cried at the violent way his stomach churned and ached. But Willas never was a boy who liked to show emotion. He would show that he was pain. But he would never show his emotions.

They stood there for a long time, Catelyn holding her nephew tightly in her arms.

He retired to his chambers after that, sitting down in his bed. A thousand thoughts swirled like snowflakes through his mind. Jon Arryn, his father, was gone. Dead of a fever, of all the things. And now Willas was Lord of the Eyrie. Lord of the Vale.

The King was coming to Winterfell. That was another thing he needed to think about. Robert Baratheon, with his wife, surely, Cersei Lannister. Their three children, Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. The Kingsguard.

All nobles who Willas should have remembered, because it had only been five years since he had left home and come to Winterfell. But Winterfell was home, or at least felt like it. Five years in the cold and unforgiving North and he had learned far more than he ever had in the ten years he spent in King's Landing.

What would he have learned if his father had not sent him to Catelyn Stark?

He would have learned to be a perfumed prick that looked down on all of those around him. Perhaps he would have been sent to the Reach and fostered by Mace Tyrell, like King Robert had suggested to his father. Perhaps he could have married Margaery Tyrell and they would be Lord and Lady of the Vale.

But none of that would happen. Now that Willas had come North, he felt as if he had found a true home. He would marry a northern girl, Alys Karstark, maybe. Or a girl from the Riverlands, one of Walder Frey's daughters. No southron lady would want to marry a crippled boy who could hardly sleep without a hot cloth on his leg to soothe his aching muscles and joints.

If he had not been as strong as he was, he would have stayed with his mother forever. Perhaps he'd even still drink from her breast like Robin, who was ten now but that didn't matter to Lysa.

Jon Arryn had truly made the right decision in sending his son to Winterfell.

But now that Jon was gone, Lysa was in charge.

And what would Willas do if she demanded that he come home?


	4. Three

Preparations for the King's arrival were in full gear. There was to be a feast on the first night, with all sorts of music and food prepared. Great groups of candles were hung in the Great Hall, and Willas smiled when he walked through, imagining how it would look with all of them lit and glowing.

Willas, Robb, Jon, and Theon were sent to get their sparse beards shaved. They all stood around, offering idle conversation about the upcoming feast and the King. "Why is your mother so dead set on us getting pretty for the king?" Jon demanded from his half-brother.

Robb, preoccupied, only shrugged in response.

"It's for the queen, I bet," Theon commented. "I hear she's a sleek bit of mink."

"I hear the prince is a right royal prick," Robb said, now that the barber had finished with him.

"Think of all those southern girls he gets to stab with his right royal prick," Theon answered.

Robb stood, shoving Jon toward the chair. "Go on, Tommy, shear him good," he instructed. "He's never met a girl he likes better than his own hair."

This brought forth laughter from Theon and Willas, while Jon just looked miserable. The bastard flinched when the scissors were brought to his dark curls. "Oh, cheer up, Jon," Willas said, rolling his blue eyes. "It's just hair."

Finally, it was time for everyone to gather in the yard. Catelyn looked around, her eyebrows furrowed. "Where's Arya?" she asked, looking to Sansa. "Sansa, where's your sister?"

The young girl shrugged in response, looking away.

In seconds, the little girl in question came running, a helm tucked over her dark hair and her gray eyes filled with excitement. "Hey, hey, hey, hey," Eddard stated, taking his daughter by the shoulder. "What are you doing with that on?"

He took the helm, handing it back to Ser Rodrik. He smiled when he looked back Arya. "Get on," he urged.

The girl pushed herself into place, shoving Bran aside. "Move!" she snapped.

The Starks stood all in a line, now.

The youngest son, six-year-old Rickon.

Catelyn.

Eddard.

Robb.

Thirteen-year-old Sansa.

Eleven-year-old Arya.

And finally, Bran.

Willas stood between Theon and Jon, behind the Starks. Bastards and wards weren't meant to be seen, though something told him that Robert would want to speak to him.

Prince Joffrey was the first to ride into the yard, a giant man behind him. The prince looked around with his green eyes, golden hair waving in the breeze. A look of disgust was painted across his proud Lannister face, but a smile grew when he caught Sansa's blue eyes. Robb glanced at his little sister.

Behind Joffrey came a giant wheelhouse that contained the Queen and her two younger children, Tommen and Myrcella. Red, polished wood with intricate gold metalwork. Willas almost laughed, but he contained that stoic expression on his face.

Finally came King Robert.

He was large, like Eddard always said. But his mass was more fat than muscle. He peered out at the crowd with small blue eyes, watching everyone lower before their king.

Robert stepped down from his horse, needing a step stool to do so. He walked up to Eddard, gesturing for everyone to rise.

"Your Grace," Eddard said, bowing his head respectfully.

The King scanned his old friend with a look of disapproval. "You've got fat," he stated.

Eddard raised an eyebrow, gray eyes flickering down to the King's own bulging stomach.

Robert broke into laughter, pulling Eddard into a tight embrace. "Cat!" he cried when he released Eddard, and he embraced her as well.

"Your Grace," Catelyn said kindly with a chuckle.

"Nine years- -" Robert said, returning to Eddard now and ruffling Rickon's hair. "Why haven't I seen you? Where the hell have you been?"

"Guarding the North for you, Your Grace. Winterfell is yours," Eddard replied.

Arya glanced up at Sansa, frowning. "Where's the Imp?" she asked, meaning the queen's younger brother, Tyrion.

"Will you shut up?" Sansa snapped back.

Robert moved on to the children. "Who have we here? You must be Robb," he said, reaching out to shake hands with the eldest son.

Robb offered a nod and a faint smile before the king moved on to Sansa. "My, you're a pretty one," he said.

Sansa grinned in response.

Robert lowered to Arya's height. "Your name is?"

"Arya," she replied, not meeting his gaze.

He nodded and moved on to Bran. He smiled at the young boy. "Oh, show us your muscles."

Bran did as told, flexing his arm. Robert laughed. "You'll be a soldier."

Willas noted a Kingsguard man taking off his helm, shaking out golden hair. "That's Jaime Lannister, the queen's twin brother," Arya said.

"Will you please shut up?" Sansa urged.

Queen Cersei exited the wheelhouse, stepping up to Eddard and holding out her hand. He lowered to kiss the back of it, looking up at her. "My Queen."

"My Queen," Catelyn smiled, curtsying.

"Where's the boy?" Robert demanded. "Jon Arryn's son?"

Eddard looked back at his nephew, giving a nod. "Go on," he said.

Willas took a step forward, nodding his head. "Your Grace," he greeted.

Robert smiled in a sympathetic sort of way. "Come here, boy," he said.

Willas thought his bones were going to crushed when the king pulled him into a tight embrace. "I'm sorry about your father," the king said.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Willas answered.

"You're welcome to come to King's Landing and see where he's buried."

"I will visit when I can."

Robert stepped away, looking to Eddard. "Take me to your crypt," he said. "I want to pay my respects."

"We've been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait," Cersei stated.

Robert only ignored her, starting to walk. "Ned," he stated.

Eddard gave Cersei an apologetic look before he followed Robert.

Silence settled over the yard.

"Where's the Imp?" Arya repeated.

Cersei sighed, moving to her twin's side. "Where is our brother?" she demanded. "Go and find the little beast."

The people began to return to their duties, and Willas stepped over to Robb. "The King's not at all what I expected," he noted.

Robb shrugged. "At least he likes you. The King should like the newest Lord of the Eyrie."

Willas rolled his eyes at his cousin.

In truth, he did not want to be Lord of the Eyrie. But he truly had no choice in the matter.


	5. Four

The feast was lit with hundreds of candles, and the Great Hall with filled with the scent of roasting meat and ale. Willas sat among the Stark children, and, in turn, with the princes and princess.

Maester Luwin had prepared a special brace for Willas's leg, in the event that he would want to dance. It held his leg nicely in place as to not let it twist painfully, but also gave him enough space to move freely. He had been sure to thank Maester Luwin, surprising the old man greatly when he embraced him.

Joffrey was the eldest of the King and Queen. Fourteen years old, a year younger than Willas, and almost as arrogant as his uncle Jaime looked. The moment he'd sat and noticed the brace Maester Luwin had given Willas for the night, Willas had been bombarded with questions from the prince.

Myrcella was the only princess, nine years of age. A lovely little girl with long, golden curls and wide emerald green eyes. She smiled faintly at Willas whenever he caught her gaze, blushing and looking away quickly.

Then was the eight-year-old Tommen. His golden hair covered his face when he looked down, leaving his green eyes hidden for most of the night. He sat between his sister and Joffrey, hardly speaking a word.

Musicians were barely audible over the murmur of conversations and loud, drunken singing. Willas didn't mind. Winterfell hardly had feasts such as this, and tonight he was going to have fun.

He was sat across the Baratheon children, between Robb and Theon. Sansa and Arya were sat at another table just behind his, among the other daughters of nobles. Jon was the only child of Eddard not in attendance, per the orders of Catelyn, who feared the bastard's presence would insult the royal family.

"Your father never said that you were a cripple," Joffrey noted suddenly, and Willas locked eyes with him.

"Really?" he asked. "Did you spend much time discussing me with my father?"

"Well, no. But the Lord of the Eyrie should be entirely healthy."

"I am entirely healthy, My Prince. I only limp."

Joffrey raised an eyebrow, as if surprised that Willas was arguing with him. Robb and Theon stopped their conversation, turning in their seats to listen.

"A cripple can't rule a noble house," Joffrey stated, as if any fool would know the fact.

"I'm not a cripple, My Prince," Willas replied. "And I don't very much want to rule the Eyrie, to be entirely honest."

Myrcella and Tommen moved further down the bench from Joffrey, as if not wanting to be associated with him. Joffrey scoffed. "You can't just choose not to rule. If you did that, your half-wit of a brother- -"

"I'd much appreciate it if you did not speak about my brother, Prince Joffrey."

The prince's eyes widened, but Willas ignored it, instead turning to look at Myrcella. "My Princess," he said. "Would you care to dance?"

Her eyes lit up and she smiled shyly. "Oh," she said, clearly quite surprised. "Of course."

Willas glanced at his cousin, who released a chuckle. "Get on, then," he urged Willas. "You offered to dance."

Myrcella stood slowly, following Willas out to the center of the floor. He was much taller than her, but neither seemed to mind.

She laughed when he took her by the hands, spinning in circles. A few people chuckled at their antics and joined in the wild dancing, soon enough clearing out the middle of the hall to make it a dance floor.

Cersei watched from the high table, smiling faintly. "Princess Myrcella seems to be enjoying herself," Catelyn noted from the Queen's side.

"She is, certainly. Willas is a good boy, is he not?"

"Willas is wonderful."

Cersei nodded her head. "Smart, too, it seems. Almost like he expects to gain a betrothal through this."

Catelyn raised an eyebrow. "A betrothal? No, Willas is only entertaining our guest."

"Of course, how silly of me to think otherwise."

Cersei's smile faded when she saw her husband among the benches, a kitchen servant on his arm and him kissing her with such ferocity that he nearly spilled the flagon of wine in his hand.

Myrcella seemed to notice as well, and her grip on Willas suddenly slackened, and she looked at the floor. Willas looked back to see what was wrong. "Oh," he said softly.

"Let's go back and sit," Myrcella said.

Willas nodded in agreement, letting go of the princess and returning to the table. They both sat back down, and a silence fell over them.

The silence was broken by a loud shriek from the table behind them. "Arya!"

Willas spun around, only to see Arya, doubled over laughing with a spoon clutched in her hands. Sansa was on the verge of tears, a ball of food clinging to her cheek and spilled across her dress. Laughter broke out among the people, much to Sansa's annoyance. "It's not funny!" she screamed as a friend began to wipe away the food.

Willas snorted, quickly picking up a cup of wine to distract himself. Robb did nothing to contain his laughter.

"She always does this. This was my favorite dress. She always does it and it's not funny!"

Catelyn gave Robb a pointed look, and he stood from his seat, moving to Arya. He took his little sister by the shoulders, lifting her up out of her seat. "Time for bed," he stated, and Arya let out a groan of annoyance.

"She should be punished for that," Joffrey muttered, but he quieted at the glare Willas sent him.

Willas had certainly tired of Joffrey.

He was only lucky he wouldn't be going back to King's Landing with Lord Eddard.


	6. Five

The men were going on a hunt.

Everyone was attending on King Robert's orders, except for Jon, Bran, Rickon, and Prince Tommen. Robb had attempted to drag Willas from the library, arguing with his cousin that everyone needed to be there, else King Robert would deem it an insult. But Willas didn't care.

He knew that if he went he would be riding at the back of the procession, unable to catch anything. He would be miserable by day's end, he knew that for certain.

Finally, Robb gave in to his cousin's stubbornness. "Damn you and your books, then," he said with a laugh, to show Willas that he was not truly angry.

"Perhaps I'll find Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen, find something to entertain them," Willas said.

Robb rolled his eyes. "Any more of your kindness, and the princess will fall in love with you."

Willas snorted at that, lowering his head below the pages of his book. "Me and a princess. Never would have imagined that."

Robb only shrugged. "Yet it seems more believable than my father becoming Hand of the King."

"I still can't believe he's agreed."

"I can't, either. He's just uprooting the family, taking Arya, Bran, and Sansa with him. Me, you, and Rickon will be the only one's left."

Willas's eyes widened. "I've nearly forgotten. Jon wants to go to the Wall."

The bastard had never had a true place in Winterfell, but the Wall was open to any man who went. Jon hoped to join his uncle, Benjen, as a ranger. Now that the Starks were beginning to separate, Jon had taken that as a sign that he should go.

Willas would miss him. He was of no relation to Jon, but there was friendship between them.

Robb glanced back at the door. "I'd best be going," he said. "Shall I explain to the King that you enjoy the company of books more than his?"

"Wonderful idea, cousin," Willas replied, before he adjusted in his seat and began to read.

Robb let out a laugh, shaking his head as he left the library.

Willas leaned back in his seat, smoothing his fingers along his leg.

He may have gone hunting with the others, had it not been for the pain that his dancing had caused him. It was a rather stupid idea, jumping around and spinning in circles. But Princess Myrcella had enjoyed it, and Willas had too, even if it hurt him now.

"Cousin Will!"

He looked up from his book, chuckling as Bran ran into the room, followed closely by his direwolf, an unnamed light brown male. "Brandon!" Willas said, dropping his book by his side.

"Want to come outside and watch me climb?"

"Your mother's told you no climbing more times than I can even count."

Bran lowered his head at that, only to raise it again when Willas laughed. "I'll come, Bran. You have to give me a moment, my leg slows me down."

The ten-year-old nodded excitedly, dark brown hair bobbing in front of his face. Willas smiled at his cousin as he rose to his feet, trying not to trip over the direwolf pup that was circling his feet, sniffing at the leg brace he was still wearing. "If this pup chews my brace..." Willas warned, a faint smile still lingering on his lips.

Bran nodded. "Come on," he urged the pup, and it hurried to its masters side.

Willas twisted his leg slightly, testing his weight. "Right," he said. "Let's go."

Bran moved to his side, and they walked together out to the yard. "Why are you still wearing the brace? Didn't Maester Luwin give you it for if you wanted to dance?" Bran asked.

"I've already spoken to Maester Luwin. He says that I can wear the brace at any time. He's surprised it worked so well in the moment. But my leg hurts like all seven of the hells right now."

"You're the one who decided to dance."

Willas chuckled. "That I am."

They made it to the broken tower, and Willas hesitated a moment before he lowered to sit in the dirt. "You go ahead, now, Brandon," he encouraged. "I'll watch from down here."

The direwolf pup and Willas watched Bran find his first foot hole. They watched him pull himself up on a brick that jutted from the wall.

He moved skillfully, and Willas found himself smiling, even as the direwolf climbed up onto his leg, whimpering anxiously.

Bran moved higher and higher, looking down at random moments to make sure Willas was still watching. The direwolfs weight was beginning to hurt Willas's leg, but he didn't mind it. He stroked the pups back, trying to ease its nerves. "It's all right, boy," he said softly.

Bran reached a window, and Willas watched him freeze in place. Willas furrowed his eyebrows, straightening up as he sat. The pup barked softly, clearly agitated. Bran suddenly moved back, starting to come around the side of the tower again, when what looked like an arm shot out and caught him by the shirt, pulling him back into the window. The young boy clung to the window, legs shaking.

Willas started to get to his feet, letting out a string of curses at the pain that shot through his leg.

Willas let out a horrifying scream as Bran was sent toppling.

The boy barely had time to react.

He fell from the window, arms and legs flailing in the air. Willas threw the pup off of him, ignoring the pain that standing caused him. He surged forward in a feeble attempt to catch Bran.

The boy's weight collapsed entirely into the dirt, and Willas allowed himself to drop down by his side. "Bran," he whispered, shaking his cousin. "Bran, wake up."

Pale eyelids were closed over Bran's dark eyes, making it look only as if he were sleeping.

His legs were bent all at odd angles, twisted and broken and damaged beyond repair.

Willas screamed again as the tears began to fall from his blue eyes.

"Someone help! Someone please help!"


	7. Six

Bran would not wake up. Maester Luwin said it would be a miracle if he lived through the first night, but he did. He lived through the first night, and the next, and the next.

The worst was past. Bran would live, but there was no hope for his legs.

He would be crippled for life.

Catelyn sat in his room night and day for nearly a month, hardly sleeping, barely eating.

Jon was going to the Wall, Eddard and the girls to King's Landing. And Bran was confined to his bed, in a deep sleep that he had not yet woken from.

Willas locked himself in his room, berating himself for letting Bran climb. For not catching him. For not realizing sooner that something was wrong. For not telling Bran to come down the moment the pup started to get anxious.

He refused to eat, up until the moment Rickon started to cry, fearing that Willas was going to starve himself to death.

"It's not your fault."

Willas didn't look at Jon. He only lowered his head, adjusting in the chair by his bed and looking at his book. "Bran fell, Willas. There was nothing you could have done about it," Jon stated.

"Bran never fell before," Willas argued. "Never. Not from a small height, not from a large one."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm not entirely sure he just fell."

"What else could have happened?"

Willas closed his eyes, thinking of the arm he saw, gripping Bran tightly. "I don't know," he said softly. "I just don't think he fell."'

When he opened his eyes again, Jon saw tears shimmering in them. "I'm going today," Jon said. "So are the girls and Lord Eddard. Say your goodbyes, Will."

"I don't want- -"

"You won't see any of us for a long time, Willas. Say goodbye to everyone. The girls will be upset if you don't."

"Can't I just- -"

"Get off your ass, Willas, and say goodbye."

His eyes went wide, and Willas slowly nodded his head, getting to his feet. "I'll say goodbye to you first, then," he murmured. "Don't freeze to death at the Wall."

"I'll try my best," Jon said with a faint chuckle.

Willas hesitated a moment before he reached out, wrapping his arms around Jon in a tight embrace. Jon smiled, sharing the embrace.

When they separated, Willas lowered his head. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," Jon answered.

Willas went to say goodbye to Arya first, since her chambers were close to his. He knocked lightly on her door, hearing her call out, "come in!"

He stepped into the room, chuckling at the spread of clothes all across her bed. "Septa Mordane is making me pack my things again," Arya explained. "She says a lady must fold her clothes properly. What's the point? They're just going to get wrinkled again."

Willas let out a laugh. "Sometimes, you're too smart for your own good."

She turned to face him, holding a long package in her hands. "Look at what Jon got me!" she said, excitement clear in her voice.

She handed it to him, and he peeled back the paper to reveal a long, thin sword. "Seven hells, Arya," he said softly.

"It's called Needle," Arya said. "Do you get it?"

Willas chuckled. Arya hated sewing, but the name fit the sword. "Yes, I get it," he answered.

Her smile suddenly faded. "You've come to say goodbye to me, haven't you?"

"Oh, don't be upset, little one," Willas said with a kind smile. "I'll see you again. You're going to King's Landing, where there's all sorts of adventures to be had. I'm staying in boring, old Winterfell."

"I don't want to go. I don't want to act like a lady."

"I know you don't, Arya. But you have to learn."

She let out a deep sigh. "I'm going to miss you."

Willas chuckled. "I'll miss you, too, little one. You have to make sure to write me whenever you can."

"I will. But you have to write, too," she said.

"I promise."

Arya smiled, jumping up and wrapping her arms around his neck. He gripped her close to his chest, smiling as she burrowed her face into his neck.

When she released him, he ruffled her hair lightly. "I'm off to see Sansa, now," he said, and Arya nodded.

He found Sansa with Septa Mordane. "Cousin dear," he said, and she spun around to face him.

Her fiery red hair was unusually messy, but she didn't seem to mind it very much. "Cousin Will!" she grinned, turning to face him.

"I've come to say goodbye," Willas said.

"Promise that you'll write, Will," she answered.

"Only if you tell me about all the lovely ladies in King's Landing."

"Willas!" she cried, giggling at his joke.

"I'll miss you, Sansa."

"I'll miss you, too, Willas."

They did not embrace, but Willas stepped close, kissing her on the forehead.

Even Septa Mordane smiled at the pair.

Willas stepped away, smoothing his hands over his tunic. "Would your father be offended if I didn't say goodbye to him? Three goodbyes are already too draining."

There was humor in his tone, but sincerity to his words. Sansa smiled awkwardly. "I'll tell him that you said goodbye."

"Thank you, Cousin Sansa."

Septa Mordane hummed under her breath, and Willas looked at her with a kind smile. "Goodbye to you, too, Septa Mordane."

"Goodbye, Lord Willas," she answered, seemingly pleased by his acknowledgement of her.

"Now, I don't think you would very much appreciate me kissing your forehead," he said.

"No, I would not."

Willas let out a chuckle, moving to embrace the old woman. "Enjoy King's Landing," he said to her.

"I will," she answered.

He stepped back and smiled. "You'll enjoy yourselves. King's Landing is beautiful from what I can remember."

Sansa let out a chuckle. "How much could you even remember? You haven't been back in five years."

Willas did not remember very, much that was true. Walks in the gardens with Jon Arryn telling him about the Eyrie. Avoiding the Queen as he ran about the castle, hiding in alcoves and climbing walls. The dangers of King's Landing had never been visible to Willas when he was a child.

He just hoped that the dangers would not present themselves to his family.


	8. Seven

When everyone left, Willas wasn't sure what to do.

He tried to read a book about the histories of Westeros and Dorne, but mentions of Visenya, sister-wife to Aegon the Conqueror, and the warrior queen Nymeria, reminded him of Arya.

He tried to read about the history of Winterfell, but the mentions of Brandon the Builder reminded him of Bran, who still slept deeply.

The tales of Jenny of Oldstones and Jonquil reminded him of Sansa.

Every time he passed by the stables, he saw the little space where Septa Mordane would hold sewing lessons.

He tried to read about Robert's Rebellion, but every time his uncle's name was said, he felt his heart break even more.

He wanted to burn Winterfell's library to the ground with all the pain it was causing him.

But, of course, he couldn't.

He resigned himself to sitting outside Bran's door in a chair, listening for any indication that the boy had awoken.

Catelyn and Willas were silent guards for Brandon Stark, praying and waiting for the boy to wake up.

Willas began again his routine of hardly any sleep. He ate, but only at the urging of Rickon. He walked around the halls sometimes when Maester Luwin told him to, but his walks were aimless and did nothing to calm the pain of his stiff joints. Sometimes Rickon would sit on his lap, and Willas would have to pretend that he was not as tired as he felt. He would make up stories for Rickon, telling tales of creatures that had been gone for thousands of years. The Children of the Forest, giants, dragons, and the frightful White Walkers that roamed beyond the Wall in the Land of Always Winter.

He told the stories he remembered from Old Nan, about the wildlings who stole away children in the night. Who lie with White Walkers to sire half-human creatures of ice and magic.

Those stories scared Rickon, but they had always been Willas's favorites when he was young. When Rickon became too afraid, he would tell the tale of Jenny of Oldstones, who fell in love with Duncan Targaryen and nearly started a war.

If Rickon wasn't with Willas, he was with Robb. He followed his elder brother incessantly, crying if he tried to leave him.

Willas and Robb only found peace when Rickon was asleep.

Robb was in charge of Winterfell, but Willas could see how much it was taking a toll on him.

One afternoon, Robb made his way down to Bran's chambers. Catelyn was arguing about appointments with Maester Luwin, who was trying to be as gentle as possible with the lady. "I don't care about appointments!" Willas heard her cry, and he stood from his chair and moved to stand with Robb.

"I'll make the appointments," Robb interjected. "We'll talk about it first thing in the morning."

"Very good, my lord," Maester Luwin agreed with a smile.

The old maester looked to Catelyn. "My lady," he said, and then he left.

Robb stepped further into the room, as did Willas. Dogs barked and howled outside. Robb opened the shutters to let faint moonlight into the room. He looked at his mother. "When was the last time you left this room?" he asked.

"I have to take care of him," Catelyn replied stiffly, her fingers moving quickly as she worked at a prayer wheel.

"He's not going to die, mother. Maester Luwin says the most dangerous time is past."

"What if he's wrong? Bran needs me."

Robb turned to face her. "Rickon needs you," he stated. "He's six. He doesn't know what's happening. He follows me around all day, he's going to hurt Willas's leg the way he sits on him- -"

"Close the windows!" Catelyn cried out. "I can't stand it! Please, make them stop!"

Robb looked back outside, and Willas saw him go rigid. "What is it?" Willas asked.

"Fire," Robb replied.

He stepped back, looking to Willas. "You stay here. I'll come back."

Willas watched his cousin hurry from the room.

A fire warning bell began to ring outside. Catelyn moved to look out the window, and Willas joined her.

Fire billowed up from the kennels, smoke and embers drifting through the air. "By the Gods," Willas whispered. "Aunt Catelyn, go back to your seat."

She started to turn, Willas doing the same.

A man stood behind them.

"You're not supposed to be here," the man said, a faint smile curling up at the corners of his lips. "No one's supposed to be here."

He looked to Bran, who looked so serene in his bed. "It's a mercy," the man shrugged. "He's dead already."

From his belt, the man drew a knife.

"No!" Catelyn cried.

She leapt forward, grabbing the blade tightly. She released a yelp of pain, and red poured from her pale hands. "Aunt Catelyn!" Willas shouted.

He shoved her aside, flinching as her blood spattered across his clothes. Willas made an attempt to shove the man backwards, but the man reacted quicker than him, slicing up and leaving a long cut down Willas's arm.

He let out a shout of pain, falling back. The man charged, grabbing Willas by the hair and pulling him back roughly. The fifteen-year-old scrambled to free himself, shouting madly. Catelyn screamed from nearby, but whenever she came near, the man threw her back.

"Leave him be!" she begged.

Willas felt the blade pressing against his neck. He closed his eyes, not wanting Catelyn to see him cry. He struggled the best he could, screaming in pain when he felt the knife slash his arm once more.

And then the man was gone, his weight ripped away and his knife gone from Willas's body.

Blue eyes opened to reveal Bran's direwolf, blood covering his muzzle as the man lay below him, his throat ripped out.

Catelyn was shaking from the floor, and Willas stood stiffly in place. Blood poured from their injuries.

The man died screaming.

The direwolf calmly looked up, jumping on the bed beside his master and lowering his head to look at Willas and Catelyn.

"Thank you," Willas whispered, and he did not feel foolish for speaking to an animal.

If the direwolf had not reacted when it did, Willas may not have survived.


	9. Eight

Catelyn called for a meeting in the Godswood.

Robb, Theon, Willas, Ser Rodrik, and Maester Luwin stood around her. They waited for what she had to say.

"What I am about to tell you must remain between us," Catelyn said. "I don't think Bran fell from that tower."

Before she could continue, Willas spoke up. "You think he was thrown, don't you?"

Catelyn nodded.

"The boy was always surefooted before," Maester Luwin noted.

"Someone tried to kill him twice," Catelyn continued. "Why? Why murder an innocent child? Unless he saw something he wasn't meant to see."

"Saw what, my lady?" Theon asked.

"I don't know," Catelyn answered. "But I would stake my life the Lannisters are involved. We already have reason to suspect their loyalty to the Crown."

"Did you notice the dagger the killer used?" Rodrik asked. "It's too fine a weapon for such a man. The blade is Valyrian steel, the handle dragon bone. Someone gave it to him."

"Someone very rich," Willas agreed softly. "The day Bran fell, I was there. I saw- - I think that I saw someone holding him. I thought I might have been imagining it, but there was golden hair on that person. I don't know for certain."

"They come into our home and try to murder my brother?" Robb spoke up. "If it's war they want- -"

Theon interjected. "If it comes to that, you know I'll stand behind you."

"What, is there going to be a battle in the Godswood?" Maester Luwin demanded. "Huh? Too easily words of war become acts of war. We don't know the truth yet. Lord Stark must be told of this."

Catelyn shook her head. "I don't trust a raven to carry these words," she said.

"I'll ride to King's Landing," Robb offered.

"No," Catelyn said. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. I will go myself."

"Mother, you can't."

"I must."

Rodrik nodded. "I'll send Hal with a squad of guardsmen to escort you," he said.

"Too large a party attracts unwanted attention," Catelyn replied. "I don't want the Lannisters to know I'm coming. "

"Let me accompany you at least. The Kingsroad can be a dangerous place for a woman alone."

Catelyn nodded with agreement. Willas spoke up. "I'll go as well," he said. "If anyone asks questions, we can say that I'm just going to see my father. They'll believe it. No one will want to question the future Lord of the Eyrie."

She thought for a long moment before she nodded her head. "All right," she agreed. "I'll take you with me."

"What about Bran?" Robb asked from Willas's side.

Catelyn let out a sigh. "I have prayed to the Seven for more than a month. Bran's life is in their hands now."

Before they left, Catelyn finished her prayed wheel.

She hung it from the wall just over Bran's head, the direwolf watching her the whole way.

Willas stood in the doorway, watching her brush away at the furs that covered Bran's tiny form. She parted his hair, holding his cheek gently in her hand.

Before she rose, she lay a kiss to Bran's forehead.

"He'll live," Willas told her. "I know he will."

"Do you remember when you hurt your leg?" Catelyn asked him.

"I'll always remember," Willas replied.

"I sat by your bedside. I wove you the prayer wheel. I begged the Gods to let you walk again. Perhaps all of their miracles went into saving your leg."

"Bran will wake, Aunt Catelyn."

"He will not be able to walk. Won't be able to run. Or- -" the next words caught in her throat. "Or climb."

Willas moved to her side, squeezing her shoulder slightly, ignoring the pain that moved through him when he moved his arm.

The assassin had left his arm with two nasty wounds that would take a long time to scar, and a few damaged nerves. Now coupled with his leg, Willas could hardly move without some form of pain occurring.

Catelyn's hands had gotten the worst of the assassin's blade. Many of the nerves had been severed, leaving them either painful at some moments, or horribly numb and barely able to move.

But neither would complain about the injuries. Bran had survived that night, and that was all that mattered.

Willas lowered to kiss Bran's head as well, pausing a moment to whisper in the child's ear. "Please wake up, Brandon," he said. "For me. For your mother. For Robb. For Rickon. For everybody."

When he rose again, Willas chewed on his lip. "We'd best get going now," he said. "It'll take me some time to ready my horse."

Catelyn nodded, turning away from her son.

Willas walked alongside her, ignoring his leg that was protesting fiercely. His fight with the assassin had left his leg burning with a pain that nearly matched the fresh wounds in his arm.

Catelyn didn't look at him when she spoke. "Why do you call him Brandon?" she asked softly. "Everyone else says Bran. I only call him Brandon when I'm punishing him."

Willas smiled faintly to himself, but it faded away quickly. It felt wrong to be smiling in the moment. "Namesakes are something to be proud of. Brandon the Builder rose the stones of Winterfell and helped to form the Wall. Brandon of the Bloody Blade saved the Reach from giants. Lord Eddard's brother tried to save his sister and died trying to rescue his father."

Willas paused for a moment, and he faced Catelyn then. "Bran will do great things one day. I know he will."

Catelyn could not help but to smile at her nephew.

They gathered their horses in silence and began the month's ride to King's Landing.

On their journey, however, many miles away back home in Winterfell, Brandon Stark awoke with a start.


	10. Nine

The small party arrived in King's Landing a day after Lord Eddard.

They came around a back entrance to the city.

Willas and Catelyn had to take extra care, hiding their hair. Catelyn hid hers beneath a scarf, while Willas wore a loose, hooded cloak. Tully hair could give them away in seconds.

"Fewer eyes back here, my lord, my lady," Rodrik said. "But still too many."

"It's nine years since I've set foot in the capital, and Willas five," Catelyn answered. "No one knew who I was the last time I came, and Willas was a boy then."

Dust surrounded them when they entered Flea Bottom.

Smallfolk ran about, children chasing each other and dressed in rags. They parted when two guards rode out into the street.

"My lord, my lady," Rodrik said softly.

"Welcome to King's Landing, Lady Stark, Lord Willas. Would you mind following us?" one asked.

"I would," Catelyn replied. "We've done nothing wrong."

"We've been instructed to escort you into the city."

"Instructed? I don't know who's providing your instructions, but- -"

One of them gestured with the letter in his hand, holding it out to her. "Follow me, Lady Stark, Lord Willas."

Catelyn took the letter, reading the outside. She let out a sigh before exchanging glances with Rodrik and following.

The guards led Catelyn, Rodrik, and Willas to a brothel, up a winding set of stairs and into a lavish room. Whores sat on either side of a man. "Cat!" the man said with a smile.

He turned to look at the whores. "Go on," he urged them. "Go upstairs."

One of them slowed when she passed Willas, and she smiled at him. He watched her walk away, a faint smile on his lips as well. He only looked away when Rodrik grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around to face the man.

When the whores had gone, Catelyn was free to unleash her anger. "You little worm!" she cried, hurling the letter at him. "You take me for some back-alley Sally you can drag into a- -"

She was silenced when the man began to snap his fingers, trying to urge a half-dressed whore away from the door. Willas's eyes went wide. "Seven hells," he whispered, and for moment he could understand why Theon spent most of his times in brothels.

Rodrik turned him away once more, hissing in his ear. "Look at the floor, Will."

"I meant no disrespect, to you of all people" the man said to Catelyn.

"How dare you bring me here!" she snapped. "Have you lost your mind?"

"No one will come looking for you here. Isn't that what you wanted? I'm truly sorry about the locale. Though, it does seem your nephew is enjoying it."

Catelyn ignored the second comment. "How did you know we were coming to King's Landing?" she demanded.

The man raised a hand to the door. "A dear friend told me."

"Lady Stark," a second man greeted as he entered the room. "Lord Willas."

"Lord Varys," Catelyn greeted.

Willas may not have recognized the first man, but he knew the second. The Master of Spies, Lord Varys. But it was easy for Willas to see the familiarity between the first man and his aunt. The first must have been Lord Petyr Baelish.

Varys stepped toward Catelyn. "To see you again after so many years is a blessing," he said, taking her by the hands. "Your poor hands."

He looked to Willas then. "And that poor arm of yours. Does it cause as much pain as the leg?"

Willas hesitated before he answered. "More pain, actually," he answered.

Catelyn looked at Varys. "How did you know we were coming?" she asked.

"Knowledge is my trade, my lady," he answered. "Did you bring the dagger with you, by any chance?"

Varys took note of the look Catelyn and Rodrik shared, and he released a chuckle. "My little birds are everywhere... even in the North," he said. "They whisper to me the strangest stories."

Rodrik slid the dagger free, handing it off to Varys. "Valyrian steel," the spymaster noted.

"Do you know whose dagger this is?" Catelyn asked.

"I must admit I do not."

Petyr chuckled from behind them, and everyone turned. "Well, well, this is an historic day," he said. "Something you don't know that I do. There's only one dagger like this in all of the Seven Kingdoms. It's mine."

Willas felt himself tense. "Yours?" he stated.

Petyr only smiled and continued speaking. "At least it was, until the tourney on Prince Joffrey's last nameday. I bet on Ser Jaime in the jousting, as any sane man would. When the Knight of the Flowers unseated him, I lost this dagger."

"To whom?" Catelyn asked.

"Tyrion Lannister. The Imp."

Petyr allowed Willas, Catelyn, and Rodrik to stay in the brothel while he went to a meeting of the Small Council. He promised he would bring Lord Eddard back to see them.

In the meantime, Catelyn put Rodrik in charge of Willas, making sure that the boy didn't stray to the whores that were all around him. They were only lucky that Petyr gave them a private room to wait in, rather than stay in the open, surrounded by the whores and their customers.

They sat in near silence, until a commotion sounded from below. Catelyn and Willas moved to the window, looking out to find Eddard, and hand around Petyr's throat as he pinned him to the wall. "Ned!" Catelyn snapped.

Eddard looked up, his eyes wide with surprise. Willas almost laughed as his uncle released Petyr, hurrying into the brothel.

Plans needed to be discussed about how to deal with the matter of the Lannisters, and whether Willas liked it or not, Petyr was going to be a part of those plans.

"The mere suggestion that the queen's brother tried to kill your boy would be considered treason," Petyr explained.

"We have proof," Catelyn tried to argue. "We have the blade."

"Which Lord Tyrion will say was stolen from him. The only man who could say otherwise has no throat, thanks to your boy's wolf."

Catelyn could see her husband's anxiety about working with Petyr. She turned to him, smiling gently. "Petyr has promised to help us find the truth. He's like a little brother to me, Ned. He would never betray my trust."

"I'll try to keep you alive, for her sake," Petyr said to Eddard. "A fool's task, admittedly, but I've never been able to refuse your wife anything."

"I won't forget this," Catelyn told Petyr. "You're a true friend."

Petyr smiled. "Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain."

Even with the kindness he was doing them by helping, Willas was not entirely sure that they should trust Petyr Baelish.


	11. Ten

Eddard saw Willas, Rodrik, and Catelyn off. He held his wife by the hands as they said goodbye. "I wish I could see the girls," Catelyn said.

"It's too dangerous," Eddard replied.

"Just for a moment."

"Until we know who our enemies are- -" he began.

"I know they did it, Ned. The Lannisters. In my bones, I know it. So does Willas."

"Littlefinger's right," Eddard said, and Willas had to smile a bit at the mention of Petyr's nickname. "I can't do anything without proof."

"And if you find the proof?" Catelyn asked.

"Then I bring it to Robert... and hope he's still the man I once knew. You watch yourself on the road, huh? That temper of yours is a dangerous thing."

"My temper? Gods be good, you nearly killed poor Littlefinger yesterday."

They both laughed at that. "He still loves you," Eddard noted.

"Does he?" Catelyn replied with a smile.

They kissed, and smiled when they broke away. "Off with you," Eddard said. "Keep an eye on Will. Riding a long time will make him sore, he may fall of his horse."

Catelyn nodded, stepping away from her husband. Willas looked at his uncle. "Goodbye, Uncle Eddard," he said. "I can write you when we get back, if you like."

"Yes, Will," Eddard agreed. "I would like that very much."

Willas released a chuckle before he reached out, pulling Eddard into a tight embrace. "Tell the girls that I miss them so. The castle is quiet without Arya's running about and Sansa's sweet singing."

Eddard nodded. "I'll tell them, Will. They miss you, too."

Willas was holding back tears when he let go of Eddard, turning away to mount his horse. He accepted Rodrik's help without much fuss, offering a faint smile as thanks.

Eddard watched his family ride out of King's Landing, Catelyn and Willas's red hair once more hidden beneath cloth. He smiled as they went, but there was no joy in the expression. If anyone found out about their suspicions of the Lannisters, a war could break out.

And the Starks did not want war.

Willas, Catelyn, and Rodrik stopped at an inn on the way back to Winterfell. Willas was thankful for a place to get a good meal and rest, his leg was hurting terribly from all the walking and riding.

They sat at a table, Willas listening to the chatter of the inn's patrons.

A young man smiled before sitting down beside Willas at their table. "Seven blessings to you, good folk!" he grinned.

"And to you," Catelyn replied, and Willas echoed his aunt.

Rodrik ignored the man's appearance, looking to one of the inn workers. "Boy!" he barked. "Bread, meat, and beer. Quickly."

The man chuckled, grabbing Rodrik by the arm. "Ah, good idea, grandfather. I'm starving," he said. "A song while we wait, or- -?"

"I'd rather throw myself down a well," Rodrik stated, and Willas could not contain the laugh that escaped him.

"Now, now, grandfather," the man said, "this may be your last chance if you're heading North. The only music the Northerners know is the howling of wolves!"

Willas joined the man in his laughter. "Do you perhaps know _The Day They Hanged Black Robin_?" he asked the singer, and the man's eyes widened.

"A sad song, that is," he noted. "But you look like such a happy boy. Why would a happy boy like you like such a sad song?"

Rodrik suddenly stiffened in his seat, and Willas looked up to see why.

Tyrion Lannister entered the inn, a man dressed all in black at his back, along with a knight. "I'm sorry, my lord," the inn keep said. "We're full up. Every room."

"My men can sleep in the stable," Tyrion replied. "As for myself, I don't require a large room."

"Truly, my lord, we have nothing."

Tyrion pulled a purse from his pocket, waving it so the coins jingled. "Is there nothing I can do... to remedy this?" he asked, clinking a coin against a tabletop.

A man spoke up, leaning forward in his seat. "You can have my room," he said.

"Now there's a clever man," Tyrion smiled, tossing him the coin.

Tyrion turned to the inn keep. "You can manage food, I trust? Yoren, dine with me," he added to the black-clothed man, a member of the Night's Watch.

"Aye, my lord," Yoren agreed.

The singer grinned, getting to his feet with raucous laughter. "Aye, my lord. My Lord of Lannister! Might I entertain you while you eat? I can sing of your father's victory at King's Landing!"

"Nothing would more likely ruin my supper," Tyrion answered, and the singer's smile dropped.

"Lady Stark! Lord Arryn!" Tyrion suddenly said, his eyes landing on their small party.

"Fuck," Willas cursed under his breath.

Heads turned to see Willas and Catelyn. "What an unexpected pleasure," Tyrion said. "I was sorry to have missed you at Winterfell, my lady."

The inn keep's eyes went wide. "Lady Stark, and Lord Arryn!" she said, clearly surprised.

Willas watched his aunt rise from her seat, and so did Tyrion. Catelyn pulled back the scarf hiding her hair, nodding to Willas to take off his hood. He did as told.

"I was still Catelyn Tully the last time I stayed here," she said.

She looked at a man. "You, ser, is that the black bat of Harrenhall I see embroidered on your coat?"

"It is, my lady," the man answered.

"And is Lady Whent a true and honest friend to my father, Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun?"

"She is."

She turned to another man. "The red stallion was always a welcome sight at Riverrun. My father counts Jonos Bracken amongst his oldest and most loyal bannermen."

The man nodded. "Our lord is honored by his trust."

"I envy your father all his fine friends, Lady Stark, but I don't quite see the purpose of this," Tyrion noted.

Catelyn turned to another man. "I know your sigil as well, the Twin Towers of Frey. How fares your lord, ser?"

"Lord Walder is well, my lady. He has asked your father for the honor of his presence on his ninetieth nameday," the man replied. "He plans to take another wife."

Tyrion scoffed, and even Willas raised an eyebrow. If he remembered correctly, Walder Frey was on his sixth wife.

Catelyn moved to the center of the room, looking around at the men she had spoken to. She pointed at Tyrion. "This man came into my house as a guest and there conspired to murder my son, a boy of ten. In the name of King Robert and the good lords you serve, I call upon you to seize him and help me return him to Winterfell, to await the King's justice."

In seconds, the men drew their swords, herding around Tyrion.

Willas smiled faintly from his seat.

Tyrion Lannister would get what he deserved.


	12. Eleven

They made hast for the Eyrie.

Willas was anxious. His mother had returned to the Eyrie with Robin after Jon Arryn's death, and he was not sure he wanted to see her after five long years. She was odd before Willas's father died. Now, he did not know what to expect.

They had gathered a good group of people for their travels. The bannermen from the inn, and a man called Bronn, the one that had offered Tyrion his room. The singer, who Willas had learned was named Marillion, had joined along, even despite Rodrik's attempts at arguing with him. Willas had to admit he enjoyed the young man's company, as well as his singing voice.

They bound Tyrion and put a hood over his head, keeping him on a horse.

When they stopped to rest, Catelyn allowed Tyrion to dismount. "Remove his hood," she instructed one of the men.

Marillion sat on a rock, singing softly. "On that eve, the captive Imp downwards from his horse did limp. No more would he preen and primp, in garb of red and gold."

Tyrion looked around at his surrounding's, looking to Catelyn. "This isn't the Kingsroad," he noted. "You said we were riding for Winterfell."

"I did," Catelyn nodded. "Often and loudly."

"Very wise," he said. "They'll be out in droves, looking for me in the wrong place. Word's probably gotten to my father by now. He'll be offering a handsome reward. Everyone know a Lannister always pays his debts. Would you be so good as to untie me?"

"Any why would I do that?" Catelyn asked.

"Why not? Am I going to run? The hill tribes would kill me for my boots. Unless a shadowcat ate me first."

"Shadowcats and hill tribes are the least of your concerns."

Tyrion turned. "Ah, the Eastern road," he said. "We're going to the Vale. You're taking me to your sister's to answer for my many imagined crimes. Or this is a simple little stop to give Willas the castle he's lord of. Tell me, Lady Stark, when was the last time you saw your sister?"

"Five years ago," Catelyn answered.

"She's changed. She was always a bit touched, but now- - you might as well kill me here."

"I am not a murderer, Lannister."

"Neither am I! I had nothing to do with the attempt on your son's life."

Catelyn shook her head. "The dagger found- -"

"What sort of imbecile arms an assassin with his own blade?"

"Should I gag him?" Rodrik asked, stepping forward.

"Why?" Tyrion demanded. "Am I starting to make sense?"

A scream came from behind Tyrion. "Rodrik!" Catelyn cried, as everyone started to run.

An axe flew through the air, imbedding itself in the cheek of a man, sending him toppling.

Willas started to get up from his seat on the rocks, crying out at the pain that surged through his leg.

Men raced down the paths.

Rodrik grabbed Catelyn, pulling her away from the fight.

Willas had no weapons, but that didn't matter. He stumbled forward, dropping down and pulling the axe free from the man's cheek. Blood sprayed out across his shirt an face, but he didn't care.

They were taking down the men as quickly as they could, Willas clinging to the axe and knocking anyone who came near him back into the center of the fight.

Catelyn drew a dagger free, and Tyrion rushed over. "Untie me," he urged. "If I die, what's the point?"

She got to work, sawing away at the ropes that bound Tyrion's hands.

The horses, tied to a post, began to buck and neigh.

Tyrion ran ahead, grabbing and shield and raising it to block his face.

Men above used slingshots to send rocks flying at them. Willas could barely dodge the projectiles, one of them catching him in the side.

A man charged Catelyn, fended off only by a bannerman's sword. But the bannerman was killed quickly.

Willas and Tyrion both ran to her, Tyrion knocking the man backward with his shield. Willas attacked down, swinging the axe blindly as hard as he could.

The man let out a horrible scream as the axe embedded itself in his side, sending him toppling.

But he wasn't dead yet.

Tyrion beat the man's face with the shield until it was nothing but blood and brains.

Willas was shaking by then, covered in blood and his ribs aching with every move.

The fight was finished as quickly as it began.

Everyone stood in their places, breathing ragged. Willas still held the axe in his hands, and it's weight strained his injured arm.

Rodrik was injured. "Rodrik," Catelyn whispered.

"I'll be fine, my lady," he said. "There's no need to bloody yourself."

Bronn stepped up Tyrion, sheathing his sword as he spoke to the dwarf. "Your first?" he asked, and Tyrion nodded.

"You need a woman," Bronn said. "Nothing like a woman after a fight."

Tyrion glanced up at Catelyn. "I'm willing if she is," he said.

"You stay the fuck away from my aunt," Willas muttered under his breath, and Bronn looked at him.

"You need a woman, too, boy," he said.

"Fuck off," Willas stated in response.

Bronn laughed, shaking his head. "You think you're tough, boy?" he asked, but Willas did not answer.

He rubbed his injured ribs, almost wanting to laugh at how many injuries he'd managed to accumulate. His leg, his twisted fingers, his arm, and now, his ribs.

The Gods were good, however. He was lucky they hadn't broken.

But perhaps, if the Gods truly were good, they would not have put Willas in the situation in the first place.


	13. Twelve

The roads to the Eyrie were all mountains and rocks, and Willas found himself riding as close as he could to the rocky wall of the mountain, fearing that one move would send him falling from the cliff's edge. Catelyn had tried her best to soothe her nephew, but it wouldn't work, leaving her riding alongside him as she whispered words of comfort.

Arryn men met them on the road, stalling their party. "You're far from home, Lady Stark," one of the men said when she rode ahead of Willas to greet them.

"To whom do I speak?" Catelyn asked.

"Ser Vardis Egan, Knight of the Vale. Is Lady Arryn expecting your visit?"

"There was no time to send word."

"May I ask, my lady, why he is with you?" Vardis said, nodding toward Tyrion.

"That's why there was no time," Catelyn answered. "He is my prisoner."

"He doesn't look like a prisoner."

"My sister will decide what he looks like. If you're keen on arguing this any further, look at that boy back there. That is Willas Arryn, your future lord. He knows your name now, ser."

Vardis seemed to understand the threat she was giving. He nodded. "Yes, my lady. Apologies for my questioning."

When they began to ride again, Willas urged his horse ahead. "My lord," Vardis said to him. "Your mother will be pleased to see you.""

"Will she?" Willas asked, and he shook his head, whispering the next part to only himself. "If only I were pleased to see her."

"The Eyrie," Tyrion said as they rode. "They say it's impregnable."

Bronn shrugged slightly, smiling. "Give me ten good men and some climbing spikes- - I'll impregnate the bitch."

Willas and Tyrion's laughter chorused together. "I like you," Tyrion said to Bronn.

The tone inside the castle was not so lighthearted, however.

Lysa was enraged.

"You bring him here without permission? You pollute my home with his presence?" she demanded.

She looked down at Robin, who drank heavily from her breast. "Your aunt and brother have done a bad thing, Robin, a very bad thing," she said. "You remember them, don't you?"

Robin looked up, and Willas wanted to close his eyes.

Black hair clung to his pale forehead. His dark eyes looked tired. Large, pink lips were covered with milk. He was pale, and thin. Sickly. Weak.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Lysa asked. "And strong, too. Jon knew it. Both of our boys, his last words were 'the seed is strong.' He wanted everyone to know what good, strong boys his sons would grow up to be. Willas, dear, come forward."

He did as told, offering his mother the kindest smile he could muster. Lysa grinned at him. "Look at him," she said. "The Lord of the all the Vale."

"Lysa," Catelyn said, "you wrote me about the Lannisters, warning me- -"

"To stay away from them!" Lysa cried. "Not to bring one here!"

"Mommy?" Robin said, in a voice so soft that Willas hardly heard him. "Is that the bad man?"

Willas looked to where his brother was staring. Tyrion.

"It is," Lysa answered."

Robin chuckled. "He's little."

"He's Tyrion the Imp of House Lannister. He killed your father. He murdered the Hand of the King!"

"Oh, did I kill him, too?" Tyrion demanded. "I've been a very busy man."

"You will watch your tongue! These men are knights of the Vale. Every one of them loved Jon Arryn. Every one of them would die for me."

"If any harm comes to me, my brother Jaime will see that they do."

Robin jerked forward with a speed so fast Willas almost was afraid he would hurt himself. "You can't hurt us. No one can hurt us here. Tell him, Mommy! Tell him!"

"Shh, shh, my sweet boy. He's just trying to frighten us. Lannisters are all liars. No one will hurt my baby," Lysa said.

"Mommy," Robin said. "I want to see the bad man fly."

"Perhaps you will, my little love."

Catelyn spoke up. "This man is my prisoner," she stated. "I will not have him harmed."

"Ser Vardis," Lysa addressed, "my sister's guest is weary. Take him down below so he can rest. Introduce him to Mord."

Tyrion was taken to the sky cells, while rooms were prepared for Catelyn, Willas, Rodrik, and Bronn.

But Willas did not want to sleep.

He found himself at the door of his mother's room. He could hear her talking quietly to Robin through the door. Hesitantly, his hand shaking, he raised a fist and rapped his knuckles against the wood.

Silence from the inside for a moment.

"Come in," Lysa called.

He opened the door, stepping inside. "Willas," she grinned, suddenly getting to her feet.

"Mother," he said kindly.

"It's been far too long, my sweet son. I've missed you terribly. How are you?"

"I'm well, Mother. Winterfell is wonderful. The Starks and Aunt Catelyn treat me well."

"She wrote us about your leg when it happened," Lysa said. "Does it ail you still?"

"I have learned to manage, Mother."

Robin stood up from the bed, moving to look up at Willas. "How old are you?" he asked his elder brother.

Willas smiled, lowering down to Robin's height, although kneeling sent pain jolting through his leg. "I'm fifteen," he said. "You're ten now, aren't you?"

Robin nodded. "Just like our cousin, Brandon," Willas said. "He's always dreamt of being a great knight like the ones from the stories. Do you have those dreams, too, little brother?"

"Mother doesn't tell me those stories," Robin answered. "She says they're too frightening. And she says I can't be a knight, because I'm not strong enough."

Willas chewed his lip for a moment, unsure of how to respond. He didn't have to think of anything, however, because Robin was already speaking again. "Mother says that you have a hurt leg. What happened?"

Willas managed a chuckle at that. "I was very foolish when I was ten, Robin. I'm not very good with horses, you see, and I got made fun of for it. So I decided to jump up onto my horse, and I pulled it down. The horse crushed my leg."

Robin nodded, seemingly in awe of his elder brother. Lysa sighed. "I begged your aunt to send you back home when the injury happened," she said. "Of course, she wouldn't listen to me. Said that that Maester Luwin you have at Winterfell was doing all that he could."

"Without Maester Luwin, I may have lost the leg," Willas replied. "He made me a special brace to keep my leg in place so it could heal."

"Didn't heal properly," she stated. "It still pains you."

Willas chuckled. "I suspect it will pain me for the rest of my life, but there is nothing to be done about it."

Lysa didn't seem entirely convinced.

Willas found himself thinking that he was lucky he had not remained with his mother.

If he had not gone to Winterfell, who would know what he would have ended up being like?


End file.
